


whisky and chapstick and dry city air

by krebkrebkreb



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Flashbacks, Inappropriate Behavior, M/M, Shibari
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-24
Updated: 2018-03-24
Packaged: 2019-04-07 05:29:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14073921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/krebkrebkreb/pseuds/krebkrebkreb
Summary: Jesse met Hanzo once, stalked him out on the streets of a city in the heart of a summer night for a mission. Things didn't go according to plan. Years later they talk about it.





	whisky and chapstick and dry city air

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bluandorange](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluandorange/gifts).



> So [bluandorange](http://bluandorange.tumblr.com) did this [amazing young McHanzo stealth gear shibari pic](http://bluandorange.tumblr.com/post/172189768460/ill-trade-ya-my-dick-for-my-hat-a-terrible) and I... I wrote this thing for it. I don't know. Enjoy!

He might be a little tipsy… he definitely is a little tipsy; how else could he have the courage to actually voice that after so long of them being… them? Friends and actual, genuine companions. They spend their nights together outside, sharing smokes and alcohol and good company.

They talk a lot all the time, about all sorts of things. Life, travel, art. Usually safe enough topics, everything from food to astronomy. Jesse finds out Hanzo likes lizards and beer and looking at the ocean.

They never talk about how long ago they met, that night with smoke and heartbeat and ropes and longing. The taste of whisky and chapstick. Dry city air.

 

_There’s silence as they stare at each other, sixteen feet away. Jesse knows that because he’s been scouting the area for hours. So has Hanzo Shimada. Two young men watching the same place, waiting for the other to move. Letting go of the stealth and moving into this near-literal arena of conversation is a new change._

_Shimada says something he can’t understand as they stare each other down. He feels his heartbeat in his palm as he holds Peacekeeper._

_Quicker than two breaths, before he can ask what’s going on,  and Shimada is beside him. Half a breath more and stars blossom in his vision and Jesse crumples._

_Hanzo knows he doesn’t have more than a few seconds if he was precise and too long if he was at all wrong. It was risky, hitting the other man in the face. Sad too, the way his cheekbone will bruise and swell. It’s a nice cheekbone._

_He ties the other man’s arms flat behind his back, wrist to forearm against each other. The rope is red paracord and he won’t be budging soon._

_He’s confident in this as he does an orderly pat down, taking everything of interest. Gun, other gun, knife, cigar case and lighter, flask. A sniff tells him the flask is full of strong liquor… whisky? It seems like a stereotype._

_Stereotypes in mind, Hanzo grabs the black hat from off the floor._

Hanzo tilts his head back, joyous. He laughs at all of this. The situation. The memories.

“So you haven’t forgotten?” Jesse says, words sticking a little in his throat.

“How could I ever forget?”

 

_He is wearing a tight shirt, form-fitting and breathable. Comfortable pants he can move in, clawed shoes he can climb the walls with. His pants and shirt are thin; he can feel the cold of the floor as easily as he can feel McCree’s body heat behind him._

_He leans back, savoring the flavor of the cigar. The heat of the smoke in his mouth helps him burn the moment into his mind. His hair falls over his shoulder, bangs dropping a shadow across his nose._

_It’s dry. He shouldn’t be smoking in here. They shouldn’t be anything in here._

_Jesse is tied well. The red rope winds around his arms and around his chest and his thighs. The man woke up while he was being tied. Hanzo let their argument carry the ropework, twisting it from something necessary to something else. Something tense in a sense beyond the litera._

_The hat sits on his knees. Hanzo is smoking one of McCree’s cigars. He took it from the case of three on McCree’s person, kept in his pocket along with the lighter and a few coins._

_It belonged to McCree and now he has to watch Hanzo put his lips up to it for a prolonged time. He has to watch the ring of lip balm and saliva form on the end._

_He doesn’t have to watch Shimada practically fellate the mouth of his flask as he takes a long draw of whisky. He— wants to._

_His pants have never been fucking tighter and the pinch of underwear-skin-hair between his left thigh and balls caused by the rope is just—_

_It’s the best thing he’s ever felt._

_“Come on, give me a sip of that,” Jesse says, licking his lip._

_The rope stretches right across his pelvis, an inch or two under where his pants button, and as close into the edge between where his legs connect to his body and the window between with his entire crotch is some sort of heaven and hell._

_He’s asking for a taste of more than the whiskey and cigar, his own goddamn property._

_“Why should I oblige you when I am just going to kill you.”_

_Smoke rising from the dry wood inside the storehouse, billowing through the doors. The discarded cigar nestled between floorboards, setting the whole thing alight._

_Jesse sits alone on the ground outside, definitely not killed. More aroused than he’s ever been in his life. Shame burns his cheeks hotter than the fire burns the building._

 

“Have you ever thought about trying again? On purpose.”

And Hanzo gives him that smirk and side eye and Jesse’s insides become mush

“I might have.”

 

 _Hanzo took off immediately the first time they met at the base on Gibraltar. Jesse had watched him go, thinking_ no _, thinking_ why _. Thinking,_ thank fuck I’m wearing thick pants _._

Forty minutes later and McCree is down in the sheets. Hands tied behind his back, Hanzo’s hand in his hair pressing him down.

Ropes bite into him all over, touching his skin and tugging on hairs. Obviously they’re making concessions for comfort, the bed instead of a storehouse floor, some much required nudity, lots of lube, but everything is…

Oh, it feels like they’re right back there but they had gone all the way.

Hanzo says something in Japanese, five sharp syllables times with the rhythmic slap of his hips. Jesse has no idea what he’s saying but it’s so much exactly like the beginning of their interaction in that storehouse that he entirely loses himself.

Worth waiting nearly twenty years.

Absolutely worth waiting.

He can almost smell smoke.


End file.
